By the time Robbie Savage’s official matchday duties start, he has been at Moss Rose almost four hours. The Macclesfield FC manager is omnipresent on-site and spends the morning watching one of the 600‑player strong academy sides. As 1pm approaches Savage screws on his managerial head. The worst comes first. The centre‑back Lewis Fensome is invited into an intimate office behind a small but smart dressing room. The space is compact, with just enough space for a desk and a pair of armchairs. On the walls are a monthly planner charting the Northern Premier League’s relentless schedule, Savage’s fill-in-as-you-go results grid – 12 green wins, two blue draws to date – and a set of plaques charting his progress from Manchester United to Macclesfield. They were gifted by his wife, Sarah. The Guardian has been granted behind-the-scenes matchday access and sits in as Fensome is informed he will not start. John McMahon, one of Savage’s assistants, formerly of Tranmere and Morecambe among others, is also present. “Always do it with two people,” McMahon says. “Then there can be no dispute over what was said.” Savage delivers the unwelcome message gently and with reassurance – the call is purely tactical. “You’ve been brilliant,” Savage says. “You’re one of my first-choice centre-backs but I think we’ll have all the possession today, so I’m putting another ball player in. If I’m wrong, I’ll say that afterwards. You’re definitely playing next Friday.” Once Fensome departs, Savage explains how the defender forced his way into the first‑team reckoning via impressive under‑21 displays. Those in need of minutes are always offered the chance to get them on a Sunday. “It is their choice … but I always finish with: ‘But I know what the right option is,’” Savage says with a grin. “I learned that trick from Mark Hughes at Wales!” By 1.35pm Savage is ticking a tad. A meeting to reveal the lineup should have started at 1.30pm sharp but two players are tardy. “I was never late once in my career,” he bristles. The internal battle Savage is fighting is obvious: his focus needs to be on the afternoon’s FA Cup clash with Witton Albion, but his clear and understandable annoyance threatens to override it. “When you react on emotion, who are you doing it for?” Savage says. “John has taught me that you’re only doing it for yourself. The positive emotion is great because it creates energy and personality. It’s probably my strongest trait as a manager but it is also my weakest. It’s the one thing I’ve had to curb.” Eventually the team news is delivered. Ged Mills, the kit director who Savage recruited over a fish and chip supper, assigns the shirt numbers. It has become a weekly ritual. Savage keeps his distance during the warmup, offering the occasional word of encouragement. Generally, though, he leaves McMahon and the club legend Peter Band to do their thing. Twenty minutes before kick‑off, Savage heads to the sponsors’ lounge and takes the microphone. “All of you play a massive part,” he tells the room. “Richard Irving over there – who took my place in the 1993 FA Youth Cup final – called Danny Elliot the other day and told him he’d sort his boots for the season.” He sings the club’s collective praises – “it’s not me, it’s not the lads in the dressing room, it’s all of us together” – before ending with humour. “My wife’s here for the first time so it must be a big game!” Eight minutes from kick-off he is pacing the dressing room. He stops. He paces. He sits. A smile appears briefly before a sigh. Nerves? Yes. Absolutely – Savage cares. About his players, about the club, about the community. “One minute” he bellows above Rihanna. Then silence. It lasts only a second, maybe two, but it feels eternal. Expectation sucks the room’s air. Many assume public speaking comes naturally to Savage. It doesn’t. “I’m all right with just Chris [Sutton] and the microphone, or if I’m commentating,” he says. “But standing in front of a group of lads is difficult. At school, I hated doing the assembly. My mum used to give me a note! It’s not my personality. I’m quite insecure. But the more you do it, the better you get.” The game is two minutes young before the predictable abuse is flung at Savage from the 400‑strong away end. “It doesn’t get to me now,” he says. “But when I first started it did. The abuse I received off certain quarters was very, very personal. Uncalled for.” Home provides some comfort for Savage. But, as a precautionary measure, one of his staff wears a body camera at away games. Sometimes it is light and humorous. But sometimes it crosses a line. During the match Savage is a ball of energy, flitting between his pitchside perch, a railing in the rickety main stand that offers a higher vantage point, and the bench. The half-time dressing room is a calm haven. Macclesfield are two up and Savage encourages softly, while pointing out a couple of areas for improvement. He swears infrequently, but his cussing counts. It is easy to see why the players respond to him. The bell sounds. “Make sure you’re in the fucking hat for the next round” is accompanied by a warning that their lower-league opponents will come hard in the opening 10 minutes. Savage’s words ring true, although after Witton halve the deficit Macclesfield win 6-1. That enables a reward for a pair of academy starlets. Savage turns to his youngest son and substitute, Freddie, offering instruction and a warm embrace. His pride is endearing. But crucially, Savage gives the same attention to fellow youngster Henry McNulty. FA Cup progress is welcome – the Macclesfield Town phoenix club has never reached the first round proper – but being in the National League next season is all that really matters. Savage’s previous role as director of football is now defunct. In the event of failure, who is he, a part-owner and board member, accountable to? “I’m accountable to myself. I will make the decision. I’ve always been honest with myself.” After the press conference, Savage has an hour’s respite. His working day is not over, though. He frequently heads to a BBC studio to co-host 606 but occasionally the Macclesfield boardroom doubles up as a studio. On Saturday, some 12 hours after arriving, he heads home. While his team have a midweek rest, Savage’s schedule as a TNT co-commentator involves him hopping from Leverkusen to Bergamo to Porto. He will be back for the FA Trophy clash with City of Liverpool on Friday night. McMahon and Band will run the Tuesday session in his absence. Savage jokes: “The lads have started calling me ‘one session Sav’ anyway!” He is self-deprecating and emphasises the coaching collective all day. He wants to soak up McMahon’s and Band’s collective experience. Savage turns 50 in a little over two weeks – why burden himself with the extra responsibility? A summer offer from another club led him to a crossroad. “I wanted to be accountable. I could have thought: ‘I’m going to apply for Championship jobs.’ But I earned my rights as a pundit – it didn’t come easy. Now as a manager I need to earn the right to manage. If it’s not with Macclesfield, I truly believe that I’ll be managing in the Football League soon.” A day with Savage proves fun and insightful. He demonstrates that what you see and hear is not always what you get.